An Hour Before Dawn. The Edge of Camp.
Lira didn't sleep.
She sat on the log until the sky began to lighten—a slow shift from black to gray, almost invisible at first, then undeniable. The trees emerged from darkness like faces appearing from fog. The world took shape around her.
Grog had left an hour ago. Silent as always. Just stood and walked away, no farewell, no last words. That was Grog. He said what needed saying and then he was done.
Lira stayed.
Watching the light come. Feeling the cold seep through her layers. Counting her heartbeats and wondering if they'd feel different when she finally stepped into the trees.
They wouldn't. She knew that. Fear didn't change the rhythm of your heart. It just made you more aware of it.
---
She reported to Captain Voren at first light.
He stood outside the command tent, a map spread across a portable table, talking with two other officers. They glanced at her when she approached, then looked away—scouts were beneath their notice. Just eyes in the forest. Tools, not people.
Voren was different.
"Lira." He nodded at her. "Ready?"
"Yes, sir."
He studied her for a moment. Assessing. She'd learned to read that look—he was checking for fear, for hesitation, for any sign she might freeze when it mattered.
She met his gaze steadily.
He nodded again. "Good. Your area is the north ridge. Three miles out, then east along the old game trail. Reports say Vargr have been seen near the frozen lake. I want to know if they're still there, how many, and what they're doing." He tapped the map. "Don't get close enough to be seen. Don't engage under any circumstances. Just watch and report."
"Yes, sir."
He handed her a small rolled parchment. "Map. Landmarks marked. If you get lost—"
"I won't."
A flicker of something in his eyes. Approval? Possible.
"Dismissed."
She saluted. Turned. Walked toward the trees.
---
The forest swallowed her whole.
One step past the tree line and the camp disappeared. Not gradually—abruptly, like a door closing. The sounds changed. The light changed. The air itself felt different, thicker, older.
Lira stopped.
Listened.
The forest had its own language. She'd learned that years ago, hunting with her father. Birds called. Squirrels chattered. Wind moved through branches in ways that told you where you were, what was happening, whether anything else moved nearby.
She stood still for a full minute, letting the sounds settle around her.
Then she moved forward.
---
The first mile was easy.
Familiar terrain. She'd hunted here before, trained here, learned to read tracks and signs in these very woods. The path was clear—not a road, just the way animals moved, the path of least resistance between trees and over rocks.
She moved slowly. Deliberately. Each step placed with care, avoiding dry leaves that would crack, loose stones that would clatter. Her father had taught her that too: speed doesn't matter if you're heard. A slow scout lives. A fast one dies.
The morning warmed slightly. Not much—winter didn't warm—but enough that her breath stopped misting quite so thickly. She paused at a stream to drink, then continued.
By mid-morning, she'd reached the ridge.
---
The north ridge wasn't impressive.
Just a rise in the land, maybe fifty feet higher than the surrounding forest, covered in the same bare trees and scattered rocks. But from the top, you could see for miles—the frozen lake to the east, the valleys to the north, the endless forest in every direction.
Lira climbed slowly. Carefully. Staying low, using rocks and trees for cover, never exposing herself against the skyline.
At the top, she found a spot between two boulders. Hidden. Sheltered. With a clear view of the lake below.
She settled in to wait.
---
The Vargr were there.
She spotted them within the hour. A small group—maybe eight or ten—moving along the far shore of the lake. Too far to see details, but close enough to count. They moved like hunters, spread out, checking the ground, looking for something.
Or someone.
Lira watched.
Her father had taught her this too. The hardest part of scouting wasn't moving—it was waiting. Sitting still for hours, watching, noting, remembering. Your body would cramp. Your mind would wander. Your bladder would fill. You couldn't move. Couldn't make sound. Couldn't do anything but watch and wait.
She watched.
The Vargr moved slowly along the lake. Reached a point, stopped, conferred. Then turned and moved back the way they'd come. A patrol. Regular. Predictable.
She noted their numbers, their equipment, their direction. Committed it all to memory.
Then she waited to see if they'd return.
---
They didn't.
The sun climbed higher. Passed noon. Started its slow descent toward evening. The Vargr didn't reappear.
Lira stayed anyway.
Because that was the other thing her father taught: patience saves lives. Leave too early and you might miss something. Leave too late and you might walk into something. The only safe time to leave was when you were certain.
She waited until the light began to fade.
Then, slowly, carefully, she retreated.
---
The walk back was harder.
Darkness fell fast in the forest. One moment she could see the path; the next, it was gone, swallowed by shadows that seemed to move and shift around her. She moved slower now, relying on memory and touch, placing each foot with care.
Her mind wandered.
She thought about Grog. About the weight he carried, the memories of deaths that hadn't happened yet. She thought about Aldric, training through pain, determined to be strong enough. She thought about Mirena, buried in books, searching for answers that might not exist.
She thought about the thing in the Grove. The red eyes. The patience.
They're out here somewhere, she thought. The hunters. Watching.
The forest felt different now. Not just dark—aware. Like something was paying attention to her passage.
She kept moving.
---
She reached the edge of camp two hours after sunset.
The guard challenged her. She gave the password. He nodded her through.
She walked to the command tent. Reported to the officer on duty. Gave her information—Vargr patrol, eight to ten, moving along the frozen lake, regular intervals. He wrote it down. Nodded. Dismissed her.
Done.
First mission complete.
She stood outside the tent, alone in the darkness, and felt... nothing. Just tired. Just hungry. Just ready to sit down.
Then she saw him.
Aldric, sitting on a log near the cookfire, wrapped in his cloak, waiting. He looked up when she approached.
"You're back," he said.
"I'm back."
"Good. I saved you food."
He gestured at a bowl wrapped in cloth, still slightly warm. Lira sat beside him. Took the bowl. Ate.
They didn't talk.
They didn't need to.